


Five Ways Illyria Never Used Her Senses Before

by Heather



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: Surprise Pairing, five things that never happened
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-02-13
Updated: 2008-02-13
Packaged: 2017-10-08 03:55:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/72443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heather/pseuds/Heather





	Five Ways Illyria Never Used Her Senses Before

  
**Sight**

The first time she sees the sun rise, from a rooftop in Downtown Los Angeles, Illyria cringes away from it.

Light is not painful. She is almost surprised to discover this, even as the shell's memories assert that such is true. It is brilliant and overwhelming. It meets her in waves and particles, and she can count each one if she can only marshal enough patience, but they are still...foreign; wrong.

Has the world become so bright? In her world, there was only the light of her siblings; living, beautiful.

She needs someone she can ask.

A whisper in her mind says, _Wesley..._

**Taste**

Juices run down her chin in sticky, red trails--a mixture of biological compositions with such delicate differences that, even with the flesh of the fruits pressed together in her jaws, she can still identify the source of each taste.

She is somewhat distracted by the scrap of fabric over her eyes, but the tactile sensation does not interfere with the gustatory one. She runs through memories not her own at an incalucable speed, matches shapes, forms colors, finds words. Remembers names.

"Tomato. Cherry. Strawberry."

A groan goes up around her.

"Told you!" Spike chortles. "Easy money...all right, blue; we'll try you on alcohol next."

**Sound**

"What are the headphones for?" Angel asks softly in a whisper, hesitating by the door.

Illyria shifts, but does not open her eyes. She tries to ignore his trespass on her restoration.

Wesley answers him back, just as softly, "She says she can't sleep for the sound of humans walking around her. We're...trying to block it out with white noise."

Illyria's teeth meet each other harshly in impatience. What practical application will this experiment provide if they do not cease interference? This device filters out so little noise to begin with. Why must they make more?

"What're you using?"

"The Beatles."

"The--?"

"It was her choice."

**Touch**

Corded muscle beneath smooth skin, long fingers tangled in her hair; the wetness of another tongue against her own. The sensations are pleasant, and blessedly outside the context of the shell's memories.

"More." She murmurs.

The hands in her hair comply, grasping her breasts. Illyria retracts her armor away from them to grant access. Her partner groans into her mouth. Illyria swallows the sound.

Their bodies rock together in the small space, back and forth, in an enticing rhythm. Illyria is considering retracting more armor, allowing greater access, when light suddenly filters in and their privacy is shattered by Angel's shocked cry:

"Connor!"

**Scent**

Containers of the shell's belongings pass before Illyria's eyes while she sits on the floor. The humans and half-breeds are expending significant effort to ignore her presence. She's astounded that they think she cares.

The experience seems to be one that brings them all pain. They touch each belonging, inhale its scent, examine it, as if they're holding something holy and precious. Wesley and Gunn even shed a few tears, albeit silently.

Illyria handles only one of the items, a glass container of a golden liquid. She looses a cloud of the chemical and breathes it in.

The experience isn't particularly moving.


End file.
